Anderson harrumphs.
His full stride propels me to catch up. The hallway extends past a set of double doors we squeeze through. I assume the empty chair flanking the entrance belongs to the missing guard. Who’s running this place?
“Ben’s in here, at the end of the passage, but stick close to me.”
We enter the chilled room that’s so cold it feels like a morgue. A black canvas curtain, giving the illusion of flimsy privacy, separates each cell. I suppose the men know each other intimately, as they’ve shared everything, even death, and rebirth.
I shiver. A mixture of sorrow and a drafty chill grips me, but I force myself to face my two biggest fears: Ben’s rejection and his hunger for my blood. “It’s freezing in here.”
“Vampires don’t need heat, air, water...”
“Only blood,” I murmur under my breath.
Anderson pauses between two empty cells. He stares down at me with big blue eyes and a warm smile, which seems sincere or expertly practiced. I can’t tell the difference, and, frankly, I’m getting antsy at all his stopping and starting.
“Is there a problem?” I blink up at him.
“Remember, these men are vampires and not criminals. They’re United States Marines who oversee the Vampire Transition Program. These cells stand in as temporary housing, while the construction of custom homes takes place. And, vampires hear everything, even the earthworms crawling beneath these floors.”
I gulp and make a mental note while my throat’s tied in a thousand knots as we proceed to the jail portion of the PDU. Ben must know I’m here if he and his coven are connected telepathically and have acute hearing. But, if so, why hasn’t he shown himself?
The base is as large as Diamond Springs and practically a city. I have suspicions explaining the reason the walls are several feet thick, and the blackened windows keep out the sun. I’m convinced top-secret horrors resemble those that exist on the pages of a Bram Stoker novel, minus the fog. If word of the existence of vampires hadn’t leaked, I suspect the world would still be in the dark, including my knowledge of my husband’s survival. In a way, I wish I were blind. I’m not sure I’m prepared to face Ben, but my feet have other plans, as my heels clip-clop alongside Anderson.
“Is Ben able to go out into the daylight?”
Giving me a slight grin, Corporal Anderson tips his head. “Vampire traits are classified.”
The secrecy piques additional questions. Will the military regulate our reintroduction? Sequester me as a method they’ll use to control Ben? I hug my chilled arms tighter, wanting Ben’s arms to replace mine so badly. Will he be warm? Will he be the man I remember?
I fight through a frightening shudder. “When will Ben be discharged? I want him to come home.”
“Depends.”
Anderson doesn’t elaborate on anything, which grinds me the wrong way. Figures the PDU has deemed him the designated everything-is-perfect-but-I-am-lying-through-my-big-white-teeth greeter.
“What do you know?” I blurt.
On a dime, he spins, grabbing my arm in a near bruising grip quicker than a blink. I don’t think Anderson is any more human than my husband, although he looks the part.
“I’ve witnessed more than I ever wanted to see. I’m trying to protect you, Camille. I’m trying to protect these men and myself. If they should lose control and word gets out they’ve harmed a human, we could all end up dead, and it might not be vampires who’ll be delivering the killing blow.”
I stiffen as fear coils around me like a crisp fall wind, one lacking moisture and clinging to the promise of snow. But my mind stalls on the word human, as if vampire soldiers have the right to harm other paranormal creatures.
It’s too much to wrap my brain around at the moment. Plus, I believe Anderson is Other Kind as well as hinting at a cover-up by our government. “You’ve made your point.”
“Good. This way.” He tosses his head in the direction of Ben’s cell, adjusting his cap to sit low over his brows.
I admit my eyes are a little too wide, and tears threaten, but I expect my shocked reaction. Behind parted privacy curtains, most of the men kick back in various states of relaxation, earbuds attached to their MP3 players, watching television, reading actual hardbound books, seemingly behaving as orderly as any military person confined to their barracks. A few cell doors are open as well, allowing the men to mingle. Several men prop themselves on the same bunk of a shared cell, watching a show on the TV. Seinfeld.
I smile, more to myself than to anyone. We all crave normal.
“Don’t stare. It’s a trigger,” Anderson warns.
A trigger for what? Will I be discouraged from looking at my husband? I trap my questions behind closed lips, but my mouth fills with cotton. I’m not sure if my knees will continue to hold me up as I near the last cell on my left. I recognize a few of these men, as they were part of Ben’s squad, but they don’t acknowledge me. Has their master warned them not to intrude? If Riley’s so intertwined with his coven, why hasn’t Ben called me these past years? Why has he yet to reach out to me, if he’s not technically a prisoner? Indeed, Ben’s aware I know of his existence, as Riley would have communicated to him. Does Ben need blood to survive? Who is his donor? Does he drink from a plastic cup or suck from a pulsing vein? I suspect the reason the military allowed me here has something to do with Ben’s survival.
My legs feel boneless as we reach a cell completely shrouded by thick canvas curtains. How am I to feed my husband when I faint at the sight of blood? It’s my last thought as a growl percolates from behind the cloth.
“This is Ben’s cell. Don’t get too close to the bars until you’ve calmed. Let him come to you.”
I stare into Anderson’s eyes, expecting
